Hand Prints
by HikaKiti
Summary: In which Dean has a chick-flick moment, Sam ruins it, and the burn mark from Castiel's grace is mentioned more than once. Destiel


**A/N**: _So I really should be writing one of my many unfinished pieces, but this idea just wouldn't leave me alone. So here. Happy Day-After-Christmas._

Her name is Lilly. Or Sarah. Or... Megan. Or something like that. Or maybe it's Elizabeth. Anyways, Dean picks up that-girl-with-a-name at a dumpy bar where the waitresses wear tight, short shorts and midriff bearing tube tops. He takes her home because she looks like a great time, and it doesn't even matter what her name is because she is _gorgeous. _She's small, with short, messy black hair and huge blue eyes framed with long eyelashes. She has a habit of quirking her eyebrows to attempt to look cute, but winds up looking really rather confused.

For some reason, Dean finds this hugely attractive and his shirt is being ripped over his head the second the door closes behind him. She practically attacks his lips with her own pale ones and he smiles hungrily against them. She slid her hand up the muscles of Dean's arm and stopped.

She pulls back in from kiss and pulls back, looking genuinely surprised. "What is this?" she questions.

Dean pulls his face from hers and follows her baby blue eyes to where her hand rests. His stomach drops as he sees the bright red flesh under her cheaply painted fingernails. Blue Eyes traces the skin, which still looks bright and red in a perfect shape, with the tip of her pinky and he clears his throat. "It's uh... a tattoo?" he offers. Usually that's the accepted lie, but this black-haired girl curls her lip.

He brings her lips back to his own. "Does it matter?" he mumbles against her face.

She pulls away again and Dean lets her go. She prowls around him in her mini-shorts and heels, inspecting him as if he's a piece of art. Cheap art. "It's a hand print though!" she points out, as if he didn't know. "A big one, too!"

Dean sighs and walks across the room, opening the little minifridge to pull out a beer. "Alright, time to go. If we aren't going to-"

"Dean."

Well, that _isn't _the girl's slightly annoying voice. It's deeper, and husky, and for a minute Dean _likes it better. _Then he realizes how horribly _not Dean _that sounds and chooses to hate the voice instead.

Dean debates on whether or not hiding in the little fridge will work, because _holy crap _the guy literally has the _worst_ timing in the entire _universe. _However, he only thinks about it for a second because after that there's a horrible sounding thump and the girl screams.

Dean Winchester turns around so fast his shoe squeaks against the filthy tile. He's on his knees beside the man who sagged to his knees holding the edge of the bed. "Shit, Cas!" he breathes, catching said man and keeping him from flopping limply on the floor.

"_What is going on?!" _the girl demands, stomping her heels with a sharp clacking noise.

"Get out!" Dean shouts at her. "GET OUT!"

Castiel moans in his arms and he turns his attention back to the crumpled form of his friend. "Come on, Cas, stay awake." he orders, tugging at the trench coat in order to prop the angel up. Castiel squirms until he's sitting with his back against the bed. "Where are you hurt, you dick?" Dean searches for blood, practically ripping the tie from the angel's neck. Finally Cas moves his hand, revealing two or three bullet holes ripped into his side, just above his hip.

Dean curses as he lifts the plain white button-down up and reveals the wound. Whoever shot this was obviously an expert marksman – the holes are not an inch from each other, almost on top of each other. That wouldn't be a troubling problem – bullet wounds were fairly easy to deal with. No, it was the jagged tear in the skin under it that looked as though it had been made with a dull knife. White light is leaking through, and Dean guesses that that's a very tiny bit of Castiel's grace.

"It's okay, Cas. You'll be fine." Dean assures him, pulling the sheets from the bed to press onto the bloodied area. "Keep pressure on that, I'll go-"

"Here, I've got water." the girl is suddenly leaning over Dean's shoulder and he nearly punches her in his shock.

Instead he snatches the offered bowl of water from her and rips a piece of Castiel's shirt to soak, since his is halfway across the room on the floor.

"Sorry, Dean. I see you were busy." Cas mumbles, head lolling.

"Oh shut up, Cas. Just tell me what happened." Dean orders, deciding he'll deal with the nosy girl later. Thinking about it, he turns and then flinches back. She's barely inches away, and her eyes are sharp and penetrating. "Go get me the case under the bed." he barks, turning back.

Castiel is eying him, and Dean realizes why he liked the girl's eyes. "Shit." he muttered again.

"Are you alright, Dean?" the angel asks him weakly, even as his blood soaks through the white of the shredded bit of shirt Dean's using to staunch the bleeding.

"You're asking me? I'm friken great, Feathers. Now what about yourself, you idiot?"

Castiel sits forward as Dean's hands tear apart the buttons of his shirt and rips it off, tossing it to the side to clear his way. "I... have lost a lot of blood." Cas pants, sweat beading on his forehead. "The... wounds..." he coughs, and Dean tries hard to not flinch when scarlet blood splatters his bare chest. "...Were made by angelic weapons." he takes a deep breath and the next words seem forced. "It was... a sneak attack."

"Okay, okay. I'll sew you up and stuff and you'll be back to your baby-in-a-trench-coat self." Dean promises, trying not to push Cas away when he slumps forward and rests his sweaty forehead against the place where Dean's shoulder meets his neck.

The girl scoots the first aide box to him, looking terrified. Dean pulls out the needle and thread, holding the prior his teeth as the threads it and tries his best not to shake Cas off. He's barely touched needle to skin when the girl suddenly grabs Castiel's hand and pulls it onto Dean's shoulder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snarls, whipping around and slapping her hand away.

"It fits." she whispered, eyes wide.

Dean turns back to Cas when the angel's breath ghosts across Dean's chest from where his head fell when he turned so suddenly. "Hang in there, Cas." Dean tells him, and tugs the needle through Jimmy-the-vessel's skin.

Dean swallows back some odd emotion and shifts awkwardly when he feels the stubble of Cas's jaw as it clenches. "Sorry." he mutters. "This might hurt a bit."

The jagged wound is stitched closed eventually, and the bullet wounds fixed, and Dean sighs in relief as Castiel seems to relax slightly. "Better?" he checked, looking down at the messy black hair.

Dean's face tickles as Cas nods and sits back. The angel looks tired. "Thank you, Dean." he murmurs. "I apologize for causing you trouble."

"It's not your fault you got hurt, Cas." Dean promises.

"You BASTARD!" the girl's voice shakes Dean back to the real world and with a jolt he realizes he was having some sort of staring contest with his best friend.

The girl slaps him as he stands to look at her and explain. He blinks a bit in surprise and raises a hand to touch his stinging cheek. "What-"

"YOU IDIOTIC BASTARD!" she screamed at him, thumping him on the chest. "Why the hell were you leading me on?! You gay pervert!"

Dean is in such a shock he doesn't even flinch at her words. "What-" he tries again, and is shocked when a fist collides with his jaw. He stares at the girl in absolute surprise, even as he tastes blood on his tongue.

To his horror, Cas is faster to react.

The girl is pinned to the wall, Castiel's face inches from hers and his arm against her neck. She looks absolutely terrified. "Cas!" Dean shouts, tugging on the bare arm of his friend. "Cas, let her go." he orders.

The angel backs off, but his expression is one of anger as he glares at the girl. "Dean, she attacked you."

"Yeah, I noticed. It's fine, just let her go." he looks at the girl and she bolts, the door slamming behind her.

Cas sways slightly as he walks back to where his shirt had been carelessly tossed by Dean and picks it up. Buttons are missing and the corner is soaked with blood. He lets it fall back down with a sigh and turns. "May I borrow some clothing?"

Dean rolls his eyes. He tries to pretend that he hasn't been purposefully staring anywhere but the angel, because for some strange reason looking at the angel's chest and arms when they were _not_ tucked away inside a trench coat and a button-down is even _more _distracting then when they are. "Uh, sure." he mumbles, heading for the bag sitting on the pillow of the bed. "Wait, can't you just mojo yourself some new clothes?" he pauses, and looks at Cas. "And heal yourself?"

"Angelic weapons damage grace as well." Cas reminded the hunter. "I could, but I would likely..." he swayed dangerously and Dean jumped forward, catching him by the shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. Nevermind."

Dean helps Castiel over to the bed. The angel sits awkwardly, and Dean sighs in exasperation. "Lay down, Cas. You need to rest so that the stitches don't fall to pieces."

Castiel doesn't immediately follow his orders, so Dean pushes him down on the mattress, ignoring the voice in his head telling him to do some other things as well.

He rummages in his bag and pulls out a shirt, but Cas is hardly even awake. He awkwardly puts the shirt back and hopes no one comes in during the night, because the comforter of the bed is covered in blood and tossed on the floor. The water Dean used to clean Cas up is half-spilled across the tiles, and Cas isn't exactly looking his best at the moment.

"The girl... was angry." Cas mumbles to the ceiling. Dean snorts.

"I'm so impressed you figured that out." he snarks. Cas's brow wrinkles.

"There was no need for sarcasm. I was merely wondering... why?" he lifts his hand and Dean scoots closer, worrying like a mother hen that he'll pull the stitching. Castiel's hand stretches and Dean follows it with his eyes as it fits itself on the angry glare of a mark on his shoulder. "Is there a problem with this mark?"

A warmth spreads from the hand print, flowing throughout Dean's body, but he shivers. He realizes that this is like a scene from a really, really bad movie. Two guys sitting shirtless talking about their feelings. It didn't _get _any more awkward than that. "She thought we were... you know, together." Dean clarifies, stretching as an excuse to shake the lingering touch of Castiel's hand from his shoulder.

"We are together." Castiel says, opening his eyes. Blue peers out at him and Dean looks away.

"No, man. Like, as in, _together." _he emphasizes. Castiel's eyes show that he still does not understand. "Like, fucking." he says shortly.

"Oh." Castiel's body looks a little more tense. "I see." Dean doesn't know how to respond to that, so he shrugs and stands up.

"Uh. Yeah. So, uh. Rest up, okay? I'm going to take a shower."

Castiel nods to the ceiling again and Dean turns around and walks away, shutting himself up in the tiny hotel bathroom. He's barely in the shower long enough to run shampoo through his short hair when the door opens.

"Dean?"

"What the hell, Cas?! I'm in the shower!"

"Yes, I know. But I wanted to say-"

"Dude, it can _WAIT. _I am _in. The. SHOWER." _

"But Dean-"

"GET OUT."

The door closes again and Dean sighs, washing the soap from his hair. _Jeez, _he thinks,_ Can't I __get some alone time? _

He hops out of the shower and grabs his towel, rubbing off the water and tying it around his waist before reaching for his clothes. It's then he sees his reflection through the fogged mirror and his shoulders droop slightly.

Dean wipes a section clear and turns, looking at the imprint of Castiel's hand that is still burned into his shoulder. In all this time, the hand has never faded. It's still bright red and fresh as it was the day he woke up and clawed his way from the grave.

"Creepy." he mutters, shaking his head and getting dressed.

He steps out of the bathroom and Castiel is still shirtless and still sleepy-looking, but he's standing there awkwardly like he has nothing better to do than look like a freaking adorable puppy. "What was that?" Dean demands, and then he pauses because _hey, why not have some fun with him? _"Hoping to catch a peek, you sneaky little pervert?" he winks.

Castiel shakes his head. "Of course not, Dean. I just wanted to once more ask to borrow some clothes." he says honestly.

Dean sighs. The points always fly over Cas's head. There was really no use in trying. "Sure, man. You don't have to ask. What's mine is yours, and all that."

"Thank you." Cas nods and turns, back to his old stiff self, if not a little weaker and paler. His steps are not longer shaky as he reaches for Dean's bag.

Dean nods and turns to the little TV sitting there. It's an old one, with antenna, and Dean isn't even sure it'll work. But he fiddles with it and tries to start it anyways, if just for a distraction.

"Dean?" Castiel's gravelly voice makes him look up once again, and he falls to the side when he nearly brushes noses with the scruffy angel.

"Whoa, Cas. Personal-"

"Space. Yes, I apologize." Cas rocks back on his heels. He looks completely different, wearing one of Dean's t-shirts. He blinks slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. "Dean... does the mark from my grace often trouble you?"

"Huh?" Dean looks up, still sitting on the floor. "No, never. What are you talking about, Cas?"

"An imprint of my hand on your body... it doesn't..." He paused, and then looked directly at his friend. "... bother you?"

"No, of course not. It's fine." Dean wriggled on the tile and glanced towards the TV, hoping to escape those huge blue eyes now narrowed in scrutiny. "Why's it stayed so long, anyways?"

"It is the mark of an Angel of Heaven, Dean. Pure, Holy grace burned you as I gripped you to pull you from Hell. It is very permanent." Cas sounded apologetic. He took a step forward and crouched in front of Dean, holding out a hand. "I can attempt to remove it, if you so wish-"

"No!" Dean shouted quickly. Castiel looked vaguely surprised. "I just mean... I kinda like it."

The characteristic tilt of Castiel's head and scrunch of his eyebrows spoke volumes of confusion and Dean tried to phrase it in a way that wouldn't have Sammy making sexuality jokes. "I just mean it's like... I don't know... a reminder."

"A reminder." Cas repeated, meeting Dean's gaze.

"Yeah."

"Of our profound bond?"

"Yeah, Cas. Sure."

"I do not understand why you would need such a reminder."

"It's a reminder for when... for when I'm laying there, soaked in blood that might be mine or might be somethin' elses, that there's a good out there to counter the bad. It may be one clumsy, feathery virgin, but he's a good guy and he's on _my _side. It reminds me that..." he trailed off, realizing that what he had about to say had sounded _gayer than Edward Cullen. _

"You were not finished with that sentence." Castiel observes after a moment of awkward silence.

"... It reminds me that someone out there cared enough to pull me out of the fires of Hell, even though I'm just a douche with a gun. And sometimes, when you're fighting things that most kids get told aren't real, it helps." he muttered.

Castiel rocked back on his heels, expression a mask. Then he locked eyes with Dean, and for once those icy blue portals looked a whole lot more human. "That was... nice. However... I don't think you need a physical blemish to remind you of a fact."

Dean looked away, trying to make himself believe he wasn't blushing.

Castiel stood. "I will always be there to remind you, Dean Winchester. All you need is to call my name."

Dean looked up in surprise, but Cas went to turn away. Grunting, Dean jumped to his feet. "Cas." he called.

Castiel turned around, eyebrows pulling together yet again. Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder and looked around quickly, as if making sure that they were alone. "Uh. I just..."

Castiel waited patiently.

"Thank you, Cas." he muttered, letting go. Castiel nodded.

"Dean... do you mind if I rest here for a moment? My grace has yet to fully recover, and I feel that-"

"Of course, Cas. Make yourself comfortable." Dean waved.

The door creaked and Dean spun around to see Sam leaning on the wall. "What, no kiss?" the younger Winchester blinked innocently. Dean's hands rolled into fists.

"Is there usually a kiss at a moment such as these?" Castiel asked, tilting his head.

"At a moment like that?" Sam glanced at Dean, corner of his mouth tugging into a coy smile. "Actually..."

"No." Dean said forcefully, at the same time Sam said, "Yeah, kinda."

"Why are you here, Sammy?" Dean demanded, heading back to the fridge for a beer.

"Well, I realized I left my laptop over here. You know, Dean, when you said you were going to go and bang a hot bitch, I didn't think you meant-"

"Sammy, I swear to God -"

"When were you and Cas gonna tell me you were having-"

"SAM!"

"Sam, Dean and I were not engaging in any sort of sexual encounters."

Sam nearly fell over laughing at the serious expression on the angel's face. "You know, next time I won't interrupt and we'll see where it goes from there." he winked and grabbed his computer.

"Screw you!" Dean shouted, feeling hot under his skin.

"I'd say the same, but Cas has that covered, don't you, Cas?" Sam tipped an invisible hat to the confused angel and left, chuckling to himself.

Out in the hallway, Sam pretended not to hear the awkward silence fill the room as he left it behind and headed for his own. Hey, he hadn't meant to ruin the moment.

_As if another chance wouldn't pop up soon,_he thought, and with that cocky grin still in place he dropped into a chair in his own room and flipped open his screen to check the news.


End file.
